Lobo Kills Christmas
by gertie-flirty
Summary: Lobo doesn't like Christmas very much. So he takes it out on everybody. Rated M for violence. One-shot, complete.


Lobo Kills Christmas

By gertie_flirty

Summary: Lobo doesn't like Christmas very much. So he takes it out on everybody.

Notes: Written as a Christmas present for my friend Zach.

Warnings: Random, nonsensical, explicit violence. Completely over the top ridiculousness. Space Dolphin.

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Lobo Kills Christmas

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_Do you smell that?_

Lobo stands atop the cliff, looking down at the city before him. He takes a long drag on his cigar. Pats his motorcycle affectionately.

_It stinks._

The wind is cold, but he wears only a vest and jeans. Snow is coming. People bustle about the streets. Laughing. Happy. Enjoying themselves.

_Smells like . . ._

He tosses the cigar on the ground and rubs it out with his boot. Climbs on his motorcycle. Revs the engine.

_Christmas._

He takes off into the night. And oh, what a night. It's a night full of wonder. A night full of faith. A night full of . . . death.

Is it loneliness that drives him to his maniacal mission? He is the last of his kind. No family. No friends to speak of, other than an occasional visit from Space Dolphin. Of course, maybe some of those bastiches at the JLA coulda sent him a Christmas card, but who know what those frakkin' idiots do with their time?

No, not loneliness. Boredom.

He stares down at the citizens, their smiles. Their laughter. He rolls his eyes.

The first one to die is Gil. Lobo never learns his last name. Doesn't care. He's celebrating Christmas, and that's all that's important. Soon, the blood is covering the department store windows.

He holds a man he has just cut in two, the entrails dripping onto the ground. "Special sale!" He cries, holding the bifurcated corpse aloft. "Half off! Har har!"

He is pleased with his wit.

The screams of the populace are delicious. He scalps a woman wearing a Santa hat and plops the bloody skin on top of his own head. The blood gets in his eyes a little bit but dries quickly. He feels festive.

Lobo gets a chainsaw from somewhere. Maybe that teenage girl he beheaded had bought it for her dad. That's kinda sweet, he thinks.

Music wells up inside him. He feels the need to sing. Loudly, to be heard over the roar of the chainsaw and the screams of the people running away from him.

"Deck the streets with lots of corpses! Falalalalalalala!" Lobo is simply running around cutting off people quite literally at their knees. "I only took two community college courses! Falalalalalalala!"

What his education has to do with his actions, he doesn't know. It's a nice rhyme, though. "Don we now a guy named Carol!" Lobo has no idea if the next guy he kills is actually named Carol, but he does know it is surprisingly easy to skin someone with a chainsaw, then wear that skin like a cloak. He swings it around his shoulders while singing out the "Falalalalalala!"

A truck is loading barrels of pickles. Lobo jumps onto the back and grabs a gigantic barrel and tosses it at the crowd, who topple like bowling pins. "Roll the ancient pickle barrel!"

He giggles maniacally, revving the engine of the chainsaw between each syllable, marching through the streets.

"Fa!" RRR! "La!" RRR! "La!" RRR! "La!" RRR! "La!" RRR! "La!" RRR! "La!" RRR! "La!" RRR!

The last note he belts out in perfect pitch, his arms spread wide in the middle of the city square.

"LAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

He smirks, and swings the chainsaw in a large circle, killing several more people. It sputters as it finally runs out of gas.

Lobo frowns, then shrugs and goes back to using his katana.

A loud whistling sound overheads and a red streak appears in the sky. Maybe it's the Justice League, egregiously late as usual, coming to punish him for his sins.

Oh, good. He was looking for a fight.

The red streak crashes into the ground in front of him. He recognizes the shape of object lying in the crater and a lump forms in his throat.

A sleigh.

A hulking red figure arises from the wreckage.

Lobo grits his teeth and spreads his feet apart, digging in his heels.

"Lobo." The figure says, taking a fighting stance. It is an old enemy of Lobo's, and possibly the most evil.

"Santa." Lobo spits the name out of his mouth.

"We meet again."

"So we do."

Their fists connect with each other's jaw simultaneously.

As Lobo swings around in a kick, Santa reaches for his gun. He shoots, but misses. Lobo grabs his wrist and snaps it like a toothpick. Santa howls and backs away, clutching his right hand pathetically.

"Leave off it, Claus."

Santa grins. "Lucky for you, I'm left-handed."

Santa reaches behind him and pulls out another gun and shoots Lobo square in the chest. Lobo clutches at his heart, knowing his healing factor will save him, but frak does it ever hurt. He falls back into the street and Santa looms over him, stomping on his chest wound. Blood erupts from Lobo's mouth and drips down his face.

"Hey, Santa," Lobo chokes out. "Anyone ever tell ya you look like a fat Gordon's fisherman?"

This time, Santa shoots Lobo in the face. That hurts worst of all.

Lobo reaches into the wreckage of his face and pulls out the bullet. The healing begins to kick in, but it's hella slow. Must . . . stop . . . Santa . . .

It's hopeless. Santa is turning. Leaving. Lobo can't follow.

And then a flying dolphin comes from outer space and stabs Santa in the eye.

A great scream arises from Saint Nick. His limbs begin to convulse and swell, blowing up into swollen balloons. His face implodes on itself, until his entire body explodes into what looks like pink glitter. The knife used by Space Dolphin clatters onto the street, the metal pinging echoing around the empty square.

Lobo manages to pull enough of his face together to eek out a few words. "Space . . . 'olphin?"

_Yes, Lobo. It's me._

Space Dolphin is talking to him telepathically. Lobo doesn't remember that happening last time, but he goes with it.

"Wha you 'ooin here space 'olphin?"

_I have been watching Santa's evil deeds for some time. When I saw he was attacking you, I knew I had to help._

"Oh . . . ah . . . 'ank you, space 'olphin."

_You're welcome. Also, Lobo, don't kill anybody else. It's Christmas._

"Aww . . . 'ut it's so fun!"

_Lobo . . ._

"Okay, okay," Lobo's lips are finally re-formed. "I won't kill anybody else, Space Dolphin."

_Good. I did get you a present, Lobo._

"Really? But I didn't get you anything—"

_It is better to give than to receive_.

"I dunno, I really like receiving." 

Space Dolphin smiles knowingly and gestures with his fin. A large gift box materializes in front of Lobo.

A grin of childish glee crosses Lobo's face. He pulls at the gigantic green bow and the box falls open, just like in a cartoon.

"This is—" Light comes into Lobo's eyes. "A nuclear powered chainsaw!"

_Indeed. It has a battery life of 575 years. _

Lobo hugs the chainsaw to his chest, squealing happily. "I think I'll name him Fluffy!"

Space Dolphin chuckles. _I'll see you next year._

As Space Dolphin turns to leave, Lobo waves after him cheerily, calling, "Merry Christmas, Space Dolphin!"

_Merry Christmas to you, Lobo!_ Space Dolphin waves his tail in goodbye. _And to all a good night!_

As Space Dolphin fades away into the stars, Lobo pats Fluffy affectionately. "Wonder how many people I can kill with this thing." He frowns. "Wait, I told Space Dolphin I wouldn't kill anybody. Darn it."

He sighs, and the chainsaw drags on the ground as he begins walking away. "Worst. Christmas. Ever."

After he walks for a few blocks, he comes across more merrymakers. Their frivolity frustrates him. A realization hits him and he lights up like a . . . well, like a Christmas tree. "He said not to kill them. Never said not to maim them."

He revs the chainsaw one more glorious time, then sets to work.

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The End

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End file.
